A New World
by avaliabrun
Summary: Zombies time-travel, echo "ghosts", sadism, faux-vampires and Ranger's Apprentice. What more could you want?because I'd rather share this to the unjudgmental, safely distant internet community. Sad, I know. Anyway, sorry I'm such a slow writer, it will probably taka at least a few weeks for each chapter. And don't worry, Ranger's apprentice actual characters will be here soon.
1. Chapter 1

The young man spluttered as he was driven into the wall, slamming against it with a dull thud. He struggled immediately to his feet with the smallest of winces.

"It's no use. She's gone by now. If Ava doesn't want to be found, no amount of searching will make a difference." He spoke the last few words factually, accepting but defiant despite the bloodstains and rips scoring his clothing from the previous hours' activities. Any more words were cut off as the stronger man's blow took him by surprise, knocking him into a paper-laden desk. He began to climb back up, but stopped as he fell once more, his breath hitching and quickly intensifying into a rattling cough as he gave up the one-sided fight. The larger man watched the scene in displeasure as the younger withdrew his hand from his face, exhausted by the coughing as much as the fight. The hand came away sprayed with droplets of blood. Mihail didn't seem to notice as he brought his gaze upwards. a slow, finalistic smile spread across his visage as he controlled his shuddering breath. " It's over, Byron. You've lost."

the stronger man chuckled through a clenched jaw. He pulled a heavy object out of its holster and toyed with it as he spoke, Bronze eyes transfixed, metal on metal. " Funny how seldom that happens, isn't it? Either way, I don't intend on it."

to Byron's irritation, the smile came back, slightly sad, but not lacking triumph. Mihail attempted a chuckle of his own, only for the young man to slump back against the desk as the choking wet cough fully overtook him. Byron observed this patiently, feeling himself involuntarily lick his lips as the coughing brought another spray of blood across the man's arm. Then the pale, blue-green gaze held his once more.

"You really don't know Ava, now, do you?"

Byron's temper flared one more time as the younger spat the words out, grinning again with blood-smeared teeth. In a flash, the heavy weapon was brought forth. A shot rang out. Mihail's form slumped from the desk to the floor and laid still as the deep red liquid blossomed around him. the stronger man watched with something near to relief as he slowly calmed. He shifted his weapon back into his holster. "Perhaps. But I won't need to soon, now will I?" The words echoed around the room as Byron turned casually away, ignoring the tugging sensation as his thirst seared deep in his throat. Flooding now could cost too much. Leaving, he beckoned to a young, blank-faced man standing guard near the cages. A new recruit, judging by the fresh Compound imprint in his left clavicle and the carefully concealed unease at his task. Just wait until feeding time, thought Byron in a rare idle moment. The new guard hurried over with surprise, fear, and relief clouding the mask of calm.

"Yes, _stăpân_?"

"Your name."

More surprise, followed by a heavy-handed business-like air.

"Viorel, _stăpân."_

The man, barely more than a youth seemed uneasy as Byron smiled casually at him. This un-Vanatri formality was welcome, if not entirely new since Byron's rule. "Viorel, I want you to prepare a group for a little, should we say, hunting. Make sure they're experienced and fully arm them. I'll give them the exact assignment myself.

"Yes. I mean, Yes, _stăpân."_

As the youth turned to leave, Byron added, almost as an afterthought, "Also, there's a bit of a mess in my den, see that it's properly straightened, but don't touch anything important-looking. I would hate to see you having to be guarded as one of those-" he jerked his head toward the fence, where a seething, moaning mass of bodies clawed at the gates, eyes milky.

Another easy smile stopped the youth mid-reply, and something dark within the same made the young man scuttle off without any more formality. Byron watched him go, wondering how the youth would react to his little "mess" after so much unease even near the cages. The full-blood sighed, making his way to a dim, enclosed hall, settling down on a cushion. Byron liked it here, with Ava gone, here her scent was strongest. It helped him think. He inhaled deeply, massaging his temples when something small and pale caught his eye under a low bench. He stooped to pick it up. A thin short swatch of plastic. Suddenly Byron straightened, eyes locked on the object in his intense, seething way. It was a common _Muritor _pregnancy test, small and discreet, but not enough so to hide from him. One aspect of the item caught his interest more than any other. The test was blue.

In a room that still smelled of Ava, in a Compound full of men, there was only one explanation.

Viorel had only just begun sorting through the task sheets, each one showing which Vanatri hunters were available and which were assigned some other job when the enormous hall doors burst open to reveal Byron's livid outline, clutching something small.

"You! Make sure that the group being sent out is the best. Pull the most experienced dominants out of any job you need to in order to get them here. Give them this. He snapped the object in half, handing one to the young man as he tucked the other into an empty disc pouch. The youth accepted his dumbly, frowning at the broken stick until Realization dawned.

"Is this a-

"It doesn't matter! The group will need it for the scent."

With that, the _stăpân, _or overlord stalked away. letting a tiny, full-lipped smirk show through as his rage and shock subsided while the young man was left to his new task. Now that he knew the full extent of Ava's actions, Byron _did not intend to lose_.


	2. Chapter 2

(Author's note; this takes place sometime after the characters' adventures in Skandia but before their trip to Arrida)

Will smiled. After the hectic previous year, the outing would be just what he needed.

"Are we ready?" He addressed the group, willing his voice to calm despite his excitement.

"Yes." came Horace's reply. Gilan and Halt, stretching nearby, nodded their assent and the hunting began. The party made their way through the trees, treading lightly, or as lightly as possible, in Horace's case. That wasn't saying much, but he was trying. The forest stretched out in all directions, soon enveloping the troupe completely.

Nearing their destination, a lushly shrubby clearing known as a prime spot for game, the group began to ready themselves. Bows and other weapons were brought forth. As the men took their positions around the vale, Will's head snapped up. In later years, he would be unable to exactly describe his reason for doing so. His only thought was that something in the ground, the scenery, the place's very essence suddenly felt different.. Wrong.

In a moment, the feeling intensified and grew, until the other members of the group could sense it as well. The band instinctively drew closer, unsheathing their weapons in unison. Tiny buffets of unseasonably warm air seemed to press in on the group, on what had been so far a still, cool day. The unmistakable scent of lemons filled the atmosphere, before all became eerily still once more.

Slumped in the clearing was the form of a young man.

Immediately, the younger three started towards him, only to be stopped by Halt. Three doubtful faces turned to his, each printed with the same, unspoken question.

"I didn't see how he got here either."

The older man's answer came as both a relief in testament to their own observational skills as well as an uneasy curiosity as to how the stranger had arrived. Halt turned, taking the lead and trudging easily over, one hand on his saxe.

"Who are you and how did you get here?"

The voice was low and clear, gruff and warning, but without any unnecessary hostility. As if awakened by his voice, the young man's eyes fluttered open. He was instantly on his feet, looking around in wonder at the forest, practically dancing with some strange excitement.

This stopped, of course, when Halt unsheathed the long, heavy blade. The pale eyes widened momentarily, snapping the intruder out of his revelry.

"WHOA, whoa, no need for that. you would be..." The young shifted slightly, obviously wracking his mind for the next word. "...Halt, right? Sorry I can't explain very much, but wow. I mean WOW it feels good to be alive again. Or whatever it is I technically am at the moment, I suppose. Blue sky. Rich earth. Green grass. It's as if I've never seen it before. It has been a while, anyway. Or it will be a while..." his brow furrowed in confusion.

Gilan observed him along with the rest of the crew while the stranger enjoyed a few more moments of silent, awestruck wonder.

Definitely not right in the head. He thought, unknowingly mirroring the thoughts of the other men. He was unarmed, and didn't seem dangerous, although the rips and bloodstains in his grungy clothing awoke some interest. Large, extremely pale blue-green eyes with long black lashes were deep-set over delicate cheekbones and lips that might have been full, had they, along with the rest of the features not been so sunken and ashy. Shaggy auburn waves with a strange, barely perceptible violet tint rested atop his head, grimed heavily and in need of a cut.

His tall, thin, and lanky body was constantly in motion as he studied every facet of his surroundings. But more attention-drawing than any of his looks was the way in which the air around him seemed to shift around him, shimmering slightly. Gilan could've sworn he saw the man's form flicker in and out of sight once or twice.

With a visible jolt, the stranger popped back into the present, taking new notice of his companions.

"Impauro,er, I'm sorry. I suppose I have a lot to explain. My name is Mihail."


	3. Chapter 3

Black sky enveloped the landscape.

Neither moon nor star seemed willing to penetrate through the night. In the years since that had passed since the carnage and turmoil of Amarice slowly died down, the city's various lamps and streetlights, the innumerable rays of enticing neon splayed out in all directions had one by one dimmed, then flickered out with no one to witness, sealing the Louisiana cityscape into a kind of voiceless, primeval quiet not known to the world for millennia.

Avalia found herself glad for this as she gazed out over the dim. Even with her gifts, the inky surroundings would make fleeing more difficult. One wrong step and it was clear she could be at the mercy of the city's hungry former residents. But the dead heard shambling below were the least of her worries, and she would have to be found for escape to be necessary, something that in this welcome murk was unlikely.

Feeling a firm prod from Pyotr's muzzle against her shoulder, the young woman tore her thoughts away from the rooftop view. The pony-sized hound rested his head on his paws and fixed his large blue eyes on his mistress, tail twitching with visible canine concern.

"I'll continue the watch, boy. Couldn't sleep if I tried, right now." She murmured huskily in answer. After an unnervingly human shrug, the beast closed his eyes and dropped once more into an easy rest Ava could only envy. With a sigh she took her small comfort in his familiar warmth, his body curled halfway around her sitting form like a shaggy, breathing settee.

At another time in her life, perhaps, she might have felt the want for sleep, forcing her eyes open and suppressing yawns, but now the urge was simply no longer there to fight. No matter the day's rigors, the images, horrors, and most of all, memories that took over every time she closed her eyes were enough to keep her going until her strength gave out completely.

Ava shifted idly, counting the minutes and scanning the jet horizon for any trace of dawn's release, yearning to abandon the morbid scene as well as cities in general. As streaks of belated light finally broke their way through the gloom the young woman became aware of her tightly clenched hands and rebuked herself silently for the irrational, subconscious notion she'd had that this particular sunrise might somehow cease to take place. Rising and stretching were performed, and by the time the sun had fully broken free of the horizon, Avalia was nearly ready for the descent from her temporary perch.

The roof of the "Ye-olde bakeshoppe" made an acceptable campsite, tackiness aside. The gaudy charm and neat rows of plastic seating might have made way for bloodstained floors and broken windows, but several desirable features made it a better choice than a night in the open. The fire escape trailing down a brick side wall, and the little store appeared to lack the smoke and flame damage shared by its closest neighbors, but most important was its placement, in a corner of one of the least crowded streets and well apart from the other, more lofty buildings.

Shielding her eyes from the spreading rays that steadily illuminated more of her ashy, milk-white skin, Ava could not have been more caught off guard as a shuddering heave seemed to course through the atmosphere. The tall woman gasped, falling to the concrete while a piercing sensation, something between a sound and a physical sensation raged around and inside of her like lightning. Earthquakes were rare enough, but this seemed to come from everywhere and everything, filling up and ripping through space, matter, and time itself. And as abruptly as it started, it stopped. Panting and shaking, she struggled to her feet, searching for some identifiable cause. Exactly what that would be, she had no idea. Curious as the occurrence made her, Ava recognized the futility of searching for a reasonable answer, and tucked the moments' confusion away into a more distant, manageable area of her consciousness for later. She took a deep breath as she resumed her previous activities, mildly embarrassed at her own terror.

"I suppose you don't have an answer for that?"

she asked sidelong to Pyotr, who had galloped to her side at her panic and now sat warily hunkered against her flank.

_"Why ask me? I'm just a dog, of course."_

"Smartass."

She could never shake the notion that the hound could- and did- communicate with her, despite his never having actually spoken. The woman had no time to ponder this once more, she noted, as the sun was already meandering through the clouds far too quickly for her liking. Enough hours lost could mean another overly-exposed night in the city. Ready for another day's struggle, Ava paused. One more thing niggled at her mind, just out of reach and too faint to hold to. Her nose twitched as she finally traced it, something that had not been there before.

Was that...Lemons?


End file.
